


Black Star

by levitatethis



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF!Charles, Bamf!Erik, Inspired by Art, M/M, Minor Violence, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Charles are independently employed contract killers who keep crossing paths on various jobs.  While they begin as resigned acquaintances a friendship is formed that eventually, inevitably, becomes something more.  It's the consequences that trip them up.</p><p>Inspired by (and loosely based on) the brilliant <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOf8tsrW3EQ">AU Erik/Charles fanvid "Guilt"</a> <strong>by LightNeverFades and xDarkSerpentx</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Star

**Author's Note:**

> Heads Up: The POV switches depending on the section. I’ve tried to make it as clear as possible.

_“_   
_Hey you, out there on your own  
Sitting naked by the phone  
Would you touch me?  
Hey you, with your ear against the wall  
Waiting for someone to call out  
Would you touch me?  
Hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?  
Open your heart, I'm coming home.”_   
__

**-Pink Floyd, _Hey You_**

 

 

 **I**

 

“Don’t you think we ought to stop?”

Erik is sprawled out naked on the bed.  His chest rises and falls with unbridled anticipation, but there’s tension written across his face betraying his unease.  He fists the sheets beneath him as if grasping for an answer that instead pours through his useless fingers like sand.

“No.”

Charles lingers at the foot of the bed.  Pants unbuttoned, shirt already tossed aside he stares, trying to capture Erik’s elusive gaze which is cast down at his own bare and desperately wanting body, all too aware of the fallibility of the precipice they’ve been hurtling towards since the night they first met.  It’s a razor’s edge balancing on the head of a pin.  The certainty of Charles’ no-nonsense reply only serves to highlight the doubt scratching at the edges.

Charles bends forward, bracing his hands on the mattress, and the drop in the bed calls Erik’s attention his way.  They wait—a second, a minute, an indeterminate pause, a hesitation that sits heavy and suffocating.

Thoughtfully, not aggressively, Charles places his hands on Erik’s ankles, deliberately inching them up his calves.  A hitch of breath breaks the silence and Erik sits up, pulling him forward, the two of them clamouring to touch every part of each other’s body.

 

 

 

 **II**

 

Had Erik not saved Charles they could have avoided this whole mess that neither now wants to give up despite the fact that they can both see the crushing end lurking over the horizon.

He could have let Charles fall from the derailed train, high on the mountain bridge, plummeting to his death.  He was supposed to do that—not grab Charles’ hand and hold on hard enough that the surprised look they gave each other (quickly turning into steely determination) set in motion the subsequent domino effect currently threatening to turn everything they thought they knew to be true on its head.

The order was straightforward:  complete the mission with no distractions and a resolute understanding that casualties were an acceptable price to pay. 

They knew that going in, accepted it.

But Erik has never liked blindly following orders and Charles still believes in the goodness of most people.

They have rather strange shortcomings for contract killers.

 

 

 

 **III**

 

They don’t talk about their respective employers.  For all they know they work for the same person.  It’s all very, ‘on a need to know basis,’ which is precisely what Erik thinks to himself whenever he suspects he’ll be brought in and questioned about his ongoing (and certainly not professionally sanctioned) ‘relationship’ with Charles.

Erik’s past—soldiers, death, destruction, a hatred so putrid it was hell bent on annihilating whole segments of the world’s population, being made to feel an accomplice in the murder of his mother (so mentally consuming it still itches the numbers on his arm like a corrupted telltale heart), Frankenstein on the hunt to destroy his maker—has made him very clear about how far he’s willing to go to fight for what he believes in etched into the marrow of his bones.  He has seen the monsters that lay within others, wishing to spew nothing but hurt and destruction in their wake.  It is his calling to vanquish them all.

Charles’ previous life—parental love stolen too young (that he can’t say if it’s genuine memories or an idealized remembrance that he clings to in a vice grip), the void filled in by a rabid, repulsive black hole, neglect by way of drunken indifference and sacrifice in the name of protecting those who needed it most, smiling when it hurts most because he won’t give them the benefit of breaking him and because he’s felt the warmth of unconditional goodness and clings to it like a lifesaver—has taught him to recognize distinctions in the grey.  There are a few people well beyond retribution. They deserve what’s coming to them.  Most, however, simply need a chance, a nudge, _encouragement_ to get on the right track. 

Falling in love?  That’s not in the cards.  It’s a fluke, a misunderstanding, an ill defined detour.

It’s a damn blind spot.

 

 

 

 

 **  
_~First Interlude~_   
**

 

It’s the middle of the afternoon in Berlin and Erik has just taken out Hertzinger Corps ‘Number One’ when he feels the presence of an all too familiar mind skimming the edges of his own.

Hesitating first, then picking up the pace, he jogs ahead twenty feet.  With a furtive look down the relatively empty road he sees one car—a limo—heading his way, a taxi driving in the opposite direction, and senses a third car approaching from yet another street at a speed that suggests the driver’s intention is to cause a crash or diversion of some sort.

 _Charles?_

 _Two seconds old friend._

He begins to run, despite not totally processing what’s happening, but hearing enough anxious exhilaration in Charles’ voice to know something huge is about to go down.  That’s when he sees there are suddenly three cars in front of him—the limo still heading his way, the taxi passing on the right and the third one hurtling into the intersection.  Still rushing forward, Erik flicks up one arm, commanding the third car up in the air.  The unexpected adjustment in speed and trajectory sends it spinning upside down and overtop the other two vehicles. 

Gun shots ring out and Erik knows Charles’ car will come down hard on its roof with enough force to crush him inside or cause some other serious damage.  He comes to an abrupt standstill and throws up both hands.  Calling on the metal and taking control of the airborne car, he slams it to the road, wheels first, the force of which causes it to almost lose control but ultimately stay intact with Charles unhurt as it skids to a stop.

In the meantime the limo runs off the road and crashes into a streetlamp while the taxi speeds away.

Erik races over to the now undoubtedly out of commission vehicle.  The uniformed driver has crawled outside and is trying to pull a sidearm.  Erik swiftly disabuses him of such a foolish notion with a well placed kick to the head.  The immediate threat incapacitated, he checks on the backseat passenger (dead with a bullet to the head and chest) and is temporarily fazed to recognize him as Hertzinger Corps ‘Number Two’.  Looks like he and Charles have managed to take out the head and right hand of one of Germany’s most notorious underground operations.  Not bad considering they had no idea the other was even in the city on a job.

After a quick assessment to ensure there are no gawking witnesses to be dealt with, he strolls over to the other car and rolls his eyes at Charles’ knowing grin as he leans out the driver’s window. 

Charles is flushed with excitement.  “Erik!  Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?  What’s it been?  Two months?  Need a lift?”

Erik smirks.  “I think you’re insane.”

“I think you’re impressed.  Hop in.”

“You’ve overexerted yourself enough for today,” Erik counters.

Charles shrugs and, not so smoothly, shifts to the passenger seat while Erik takes his place behind the steering wheel. 

“Seat belt.” Erik puts on his most authoritative voice, hardly concealing the smile threatening to undermine his stoic façade.  Bumping into Charles, by chance, after so long has put him in a surprisingly good mood, so much so that he’d prefer not to put too much analytical thought into it at the moment.

With a laugh Charles clicks it into place (Erik does the same) and pulls sunglasses out of his pocket, sliding them onto his face with a goofy grin.  “There’s a great pub a few blocks away.  How about a drink, on me, for old time sake?  My way of saying thank you for your much appreciated, although unnecessary, assistance.”

Erik chuckles and revs the engine.

 

 

 

 

 **IV**

 

Their similarities are as telling as their differences.

Charles is a natural born conversationalist, curious enough to ask probing questions while remaining cunning enough to subtly shift the direction if boredom seems to be seeping in.  When he wishes it, Charles rules the epicentre with beguiling warmth and a fun countenance.

Erik hovers at the edges, quiet and observant.  A man of few unnecessary words, he silently details everything, categorizing it and filing it all away for later use (if so needed).  He refuses attempts to bullshit a conversation.  Either there is something to be said to another person and it flows naturally or there isn’t.  Talking for the sake of talking is a pet peeve he wishes people didn’t succumb to so often.

He is amused and exhausted by Charles’ ability and inclination to talk with almost everyone.  Unlike those who feel the need to fill any and all silence, Charles genuinely seems interested in peoples stories.  In return, Charles admires the way Erik’s arms length reserve is compelling, the way it draws only the most interesting people to him without him trying to be anything other than who he is.  Yet it is each other on whom their attention naturally settles, and a shared smile, a shrug of shoulders, a nod of acknowledgment is enough to put up an invisible wall between them and the rest of the world. 

But never for too long.  There’s always another job to move onto.

Charles wields a gun more for show than practicality (and to deflect unwanted attention from himself and onto a chosen lackey when law abiding or vengeful eyes may prove to be too inquisitive).  He’s a wicked shot but the truth of the matter is he could use his mind to force someone to kill themselves.  Little fuss or muss.  And he could do it with a grin.

Erik turns his weapons (and everyone else’s) into extensions of himself.  He takes pleasure in the shock and fear unfolding in a person’s eyes as their protection is rendered against them.  With a twitch of a finger from an improbable distance he inflicts punishment with a smile.

Together they are a formidable force.

It’s no wonder they can talk and manoeuvre their way into and through an assigned mark’s protective lair with cunning ease and unnerving calculation.  Worst case scenario, when a more complicated fight is unleashed they can harness their powers fiercely, Charles telepathically relaying information to Erik while simultaneously shifting a person here or there, and Erik methodically flying a gun (or other meaningful weapon) over to Charles before anyone can blink and realize there are two of them with the power of many and an endgame in sight.

They may not be partners in the official sense, but when they put their mutual talents together there’s no stopping them.

 

 

 

 

 **  
_~ Second Interlude ~_   
**

 

Arms folded across his chest, peering up in a reprimanding fashion, Charles’ nonchalance is an eerie contrast to the charges he’s counting out.  “Rape, murder, human trafficking, sexual slavery, torture.  You really are a despicable excuse for a human being.”

Zhivko stands frozen in the middle of the room, his gun just beyond his reach, hanging in the air and pointed at him.  Panicked, he looks from the gun to Charles to the gun to Erik and back to the gun.

“There’s really no place for you in this world.” Charles tilts his head towards Erik who regards him with what looks like cool indifference.  “What do you say to a little target practice, my friend?”

Erik pretends to consider the proposition, his disgust with the dreg of society thinly veiled at best. “I’ve always liked the way you think.” He smiles. The sharp-toothed wicked grin is its own secret weapon.  They both see Zhivko recoil and Charles flinches for a second as a barrage of frightened thoughts strike his brain.

There’s a shift in the room as all the metal begins to pull and Erik takes a step forward, sparing a glance at his friend then settling all this attentions on the man of the hour. 

 

 

 

 **V**

 

They’ve crossed paths enough times that it raises a healthy dose of paranoia.

In cryptic conversations (both still working to maintain some sort of professionalism by not revealing too much about their employment history, past and present) they’ve mulled over whether showing up on the same jobs repeatedly is:

1/ A contractor hedging bets and sending in two separately acquired assassins.

2/ Absolute chance based on the mutual self-interests of their unnamed employer(s).

3/ A not so subtle attempt by their employer(s) to get them to take out each other, either crippling the competition or tying up loose ends as the jobs get bigger and more intricate and thereby more likely to draw the attention of international government watch agencies.

The thing is, until it gets to the point of no return—because the day _will_ come when one of them will definitely be going down—they’re enjoying the ride.

 

 

 

 **VI**

 

Ironically it was Charles who saved Erik first.

In the murky black water Erik’s singular focus on his mark nearly cost him his life, if not for Charles, arms suddenly wrapped around Erik’s chest, mind in his mind, pulling him to safety.

Back on dry ground and bitterly soaked, Charles stood over him and glared.  “Who the hell are you?  What were you doing?”

Erik, sitting on the ground and shivering through the chill, stared back in anger for the missed opportunity and humiliating reprimand.

Charles crouched as his feet.  “It’s not every day a man doesn’t realize he’s drowning.  You’re either admirably driven, suicidal or laughably unaware.”  He regarded Erik thoughtfully. “I could pry it out of you.”  He tapped two fingers against his head.

“Then do it,” Erik sneered.  “Just stop talking and stop wasting my time.”

Charles pursed his lips and gave Erik an appraising look, surprised at the belligerent response to his reveal of aggressive telepathy.  The only person who wouldn’t be completely put off or bothered is a mutant with a death wish which, given how they've just met, painted a pretty stark portrait. While he filed that tidbit of useful information away, Erik swiftly rose to his feet (with Charles following his lead) and they engaged in a silent standoff.

Erik rolled his eyes.  “All talk and no action—”

 

Charles lightly tugged at Erik’s mind earning him a ‘if looks could kill’ glare.  In response Erik pushed Charles back by manipulating the zipper on his jacket, causing him to stumble on his feet.

“Tit for tat, I see,” Charles said steadying himself while simultaneously smoothing down the front of his jacket and mentally noted he was dealing with a metal bender of sorts.  “How about we find a better use for our talents?”

Erik raised an eyebrow.

Charles spared a considerate look at the water before focusing on Erik again.  “I doubt you decided to just go for a swim in the ocean...by yourself...at night.  Am I right to guess Shaw was your intended for the evening?” 

He deliberately made it sound dirty and if Shaw were anyone else Erik might have cracked a smile.  As it were he was furious.  Sensing the hostility Charles raised an apologetic hand.

“More personal than business,” Charles said quickly.  “I get it.  But there are better ways than killing yourself in the process.”

Sceptical but curious by the change in demeanour, Erik squared his shoulders and stood tall.  “And why would that matter to you?”

“Getting rid of a body is one thing.  But a second one?  A mutant who isn’t on the list?  I’m sure you can appreciate how that might make things messy.  Besides, Shaw deserves everything we can throw at him.”

Erik wasn’t sure if there was more to Charles’ reasoning, if there was an angle he wasn’t yet seeing.  There was no telling why he was also here and what he wanted with Shaw, but something told Erik to play it cool.  _We_ beat a repetitive refrain like a distant echo.  It was either a promise or a warning.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend...or....keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

 

 

 

 **VII**

 

In their own ways they’ve both spent the better parts of their lives alone.

Erik has few attachments to people and places.  He moves stealth-like through the world, playing up connections when necessary (for a job, for personal release) and always under pretence.  Charles is the first person who gets under his skin in a way he can’t scratch out, and over time he doesn’t want to.

“There’s no rest for the wicked,” Charles sighs over drinks one night in Budapest and Erik clinks their glasses together and mutters, “Cheers.”

 

 *********

 

Bumping into each other is an annoyance and an amusement and for awhile they treat it like a game of ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’  Killing time produces a certain inanity they become keen to exploit.

“Go on, Charles, pull the trigger.”

“I’m not going to shoot you in the head, Erik.”

“I’ll stop the bullet.”

“I believe that _you_ believe you will.”

“Which is your way of saying you don’t think I have control over my ability.  For all your talk about ‘groovy’ mutations I don’t see you backing it up with any action.”

“Excuse me if I don’t want to kill y—be charged with murder.”

“Your concern for my well being is overwhelming.”

“Why should I be worried about you since you’re bloody convinced you won’t be harmed?!”

“Except you think I will be!”

“I know you think—”

“Just shoot the damn gun, Charles!”

“...I can’t!”

It’s bound to happen that over time honest to goodness conversations slip in.

He knows Charles has a sister he’s very close to but they had a less than ideal childhood and she’s not someone he can be completely honest with (for her own protection, despite what Charles’ needs to offload at times).  Erik suspects abuse at the hands of authority figures by way of what Charles chooses to omit and he feels the urge to hurt the person or persons who still manage to wipe the smile from Charles’ otherwise friendly face.  There comes a point where, admitting that he finds Charles fascinating makes his stomach flip in a good way.  The thought of Charles being tainted irrevocably in some way by people Erik _can’t_ confront, can’t make answer for their ugly wrongs, is frustrating and even heartbreaking.

In return Erik talks about his parents, mindful of the vast difference between his own relationship with his mother versus Charles’.  He talks about the war and his travels, telling interesting details but keeping the most troubling ghosts locked tightly away.  He suspects Charles has picked up on a stray thought here and there but is too polite to broach anything unless invited, choosing instead to sit in the shared quiet, lightly knocking Erik’s shoulder with his own as an affectionate reminder that he is not alone in this world.  For that Erik is grateful.  Sometimes living in denial is all he has.

Charles listens like there’s nowhere he’d rather be and in the beginning it made Erik want to escape, not just for the insight Charles may gleam but because he realized he _wanted_ Charles to see it all and he suspects Charles wants the same. 

It’s making their meetings increasingly problematic.  The personal has overtaken the professional and he can’t help but wonder if this has always been the case with them.

 

 

 

 

 **  
_~ Third Interlude ~_   
**

 

“Stay,” Charles calls out, grabbing at his wrist, but Erik’s already pulling away with a muttered excuse.

He feels Charles’ eyes on his back as he stands at the bar, refusing to turn around.  Eventually Charles gives up, offering no more than a quiet, “Goodbye,” when he passes from behind on his way to the door.  Inconspicuously Erik heeds his exist with a brief look over his shoulder.

Not ten minutes later, when Erik’s on his way back from the washroom (where he _did not_ wretch into the toilet and where he _did not_ grimace over what the hell Charles has come to mean to him in every single way) he gets into an altercation with an obnoxious man who steps in front of him and makes a nasty and far too knowing observation about Charles. 

It’s enough that Erik wonders who is keeping tabs on Charles— _them_ —and why.  He wonders if a cover has been blown or if this is a warning.  Either way his temper blows (a culmination of _Charles_ and time running out) and he ends up slamming a bottle against the man’s head.  The only thing that stops him from beating the idiotically cocky messenger unconscious is the growing panic inside for Charles’ immediate safety.

Amidst the din of raised voices he looks to the doorway and for a brief moment thinks he sees Charles—unsure, disappointed—watching him.

Erik feels himself coming undone.

 

 

 

 **VIII**

 

It’s in Algeria when they cross paths again.

It’s three weeks since Erik stopped Charles from falling to a gruesome death.

That’s three weeks to think and overanalyze all those looks that lingered too long, the rush of want at a stunning glimpse of bare skin, the hypnotic rumble of Erik’s voice, the inescapable presence of him within Charles’ thoughts, whether they be mundane or extraordinary. 

It takes three weeks to accept a truth that cannot be denied but should, by no means, be entertained.  No good can come of it.

The dinner party is at Prince Abdul’s estate and Charles manages to sneak away from an otherwise delightful (albeit distracted due to the circumstances) conversation with the host’s sister, having spotted Erik (under the familiar guise of Jaeger) a while earlier in the midst of the mingling crowd.  After some aimless wandering around the first floor of the estate he finds Erik in the study sitting at a grand piano staring at the keys.

They lock eyes and Charles comes close to turning tail and choosing instead to stick his head in the sand.  But pride, perseverance, _hope_ , even stupidity gets the better of him and he only turns to lock the door.  Pausing in thought, his back still to Erik, he takes a deep breath and faces the man who has come to inhabit him body and soul and who is now watching him expectantly.  Despite Erik’s reserved posture, his eyes are filled to the brim with more emotion than Charles can begin to wrap his brain around.

They awkwardly stammer over pleasantries until Charles cuts to the chase and blurts out, “Why did you do it?  Why not let me fall?”  He has his suspicions, but nothing compares to cold, hard facts.

Erik stands and cautiously saunters closer.  “I would have thought that was fairly obvious,” he states softly.

And it is.  How did they ignore it for so long?

Instinctively Charles closes the space between them and capture’s Erik’s lips in an awkward yet encouraging kiss, the movement pushing Erik back against the bookcase.  They bask in the unparalleled rush of _finally_ tasting each other after all the preamble and build up, after a slow burn that now feels like a growing inferno. Their heated breaths skip across soft, pliant lips and the slight rough rub of their cheeks together crashes reality through any lingering preconceived imaginings built up over time that fall away as the real thing takes over.

Charles’ heart is pounding and he quietly gasps when Erik traces his fingertip around the back of Charles’ hands, working his way until their fingers are intertwined.  Charles needs to catch his breath, literally and figuratively, but when he pulls back Erik follows and reclaims the kiss, this time immediately pushing it deeper, more insistent and demanding.  Parting his lips, Erik slips his tongue against Charles.  Momentarily startled, Charles acquiesces, massaging his tongue along Erik’s and fervently sucking at his bottom lip.  All reason is eagerly tossed aside and Erik grabs Charles’ tux jacket, spinning them around so he can push him against the bookcase and grind up against him—

The dinner bell chimes.

That night marks the beginning of a million stolen kisses taken when they can grab them, when work, proximity, and the busied indifference of those around them works to their advantage.  It takes another six months (time which Charles affectionately and exasperatedly refers to as their courtship) before they finally cross that final threshold in the sand that’s been staring back at them.

Of all places, it happens during an unexpected stopover for Erik and a missed flight for Charles in Halifax.  In a quaint bed and breakfast (during low tourist season since they seem to be two of five guests) they end up throwing caution and common sense to the wind.

Of all the roles they’ve played, of all the names they’ve inhabited and personas they’ve slipped into, of all the genuine conversations they’ve managed amongst the lies presented to the rest of the world, this is the most authentic either have ever been with anyone.

Charles doesn’t know what to expect.  It’s certainly not Erik taking his time as if making a point to map and memorize every part of Charles’ body while trailing his lips along the dip and rise of Charles’ torso, to the jut of his hips and the curve of his stomach, up to the hollow of his neck.  Amidst huffs of shared laughter and gasps at touch, their skin flushes pink as a light film of sweat coats them both.

Charles is drawn to the taut lines of Erik’s muscled shoulders, the elegant curve that angles down past a tapered waist to long, lean legs.  There is unimaginable strength coiled in his limbs even when relaxed and knowing what these arms, these legs have survived; what vengeance they’ve doled out with expert precision and collected calm rushes a want and need so strong Charles doesn’t care if he’s projecting. 

Erik smiles up at him from between his thighs, sucking in the salty skin just above Charles’ hardening cock and chuckles at the moan it elicits.  He takes Charles length in his mouth, running his tongue around the tip and down the sides, but only enough to get Charles keening off the bed.  All the while Erik takes care to gently work him open with his slick-coated fingers.  In turn, Charles’ body burns with a need he’s never experienced before.

When the time comes, Erik makes his way up and gazes unwaveringly into Charles’ eyes, making no mistake what has been laying in wait all this time. Their bodies ache in the delay, inches apart.  While Erik slowly strokes his own cock with a mixture of lube and pre-cum, Charles reaches out and lightly traces his fingertips across the back of Erik’s neck, a gesture which Erik turns towards, and the silent confession of what this is and what will be is binding.

Never breaking their gaze, Charles spreads his legs and Erik languidly pushes inside, calling forth a quiet moan from Charles’ lips and a muted grunt from Erik.  At the last second he thrusts a bit more forcefully, filling Charles to the hilt and causing Charles to arch off the bed, pressing their chests together.  Charles wraps one leg around Erik, the other is lifted slightly as Erik fits his arm under it, making their positioning even more snug.  Charles’ trapped hardon rubs sensitively between them as Erik builds a steady rhythm, pulling nearly all the way out then thrusting forward, shifting his hips for the perfect angle, some shallow, some deep, all making Charles claw and clutch at him. 

As he licks and nips along Charles’ mouth and jaw, Charles bites at his shoulder, sucking at the broken skin and relishing the sharp hiss that escapes his lips.  Erik pulls back slightly and they both look down at Charles’ straining cock, hard and leaking against their stomachs, while Erik picks up the pace, fucking him with more unapologetic intent.

With an encouraging groan, Charles grabs Erik’s hand (flat on the bed), guiding it to his cock, and they stroke him as one.  Charles rolls his hips in time with Erik’s pistoning thrusts pushing them as close together as physically possible.  They’re so far gone there’s nowhere to go but over the edge of the cliff. Eyes blown wide open, their mouths ghost each other until they’re gasping through their climaxes, Erik first and Charles not far behind.  Erik collapses and Charles wraps his arms tightly around him, kissing his sweaty brow. 

As soon as their breathing steadies (dutifully ignoring their rather sticky states), Erik raises his head and after a look of musing consideration he flicks the tip of his tongue against Charles’ lip and then leads them into another breathless kiss.  Eventually pulling apart, Charles nudges their noses and Erik collapses next to him on the bed, faced curved against Charles’ neck, huffing sated breaths against dank skin while Charles sighs contentedly.  Their thoughts instinctively reach out to one another.

 _This is it._

 _Mmmm?_

 _Nothing._

 _...Charles?_

 _Yes?_

 _I...I, uh…_

 _...I know, Erik._

The months that follow are a blur yet vivid Technicolour all the same.  Sometimes they take it slow.  Other times it’s fast and hard.  Sometimes it’s Erik setting the pace, making Charles pant and come undone.  Just as often it’s Charles pushing Erik to the brink and over.

The best moments, the times when it’s all too much and just enough, however, are when neither has to take off soon afterwards.  Neither would have ever thought the simplicity of lying together (pressed impossibly close, heat passing from one body to the next, feeling the settled curve of limbs around the other) or talking over a shared meal (sitting half-clothed and rumpled in each other’s space at the kitchen table) or laughing at some ridiculous program on television (knocking shoulders repeatedly) or gazing down at the city du jour as night begins to descend (their hands grazing), would come to mean _home_ so profoundly as it does.

It’s better than good.  It’s the fate of two lives melding together, like there was no other way this could have gone.  There is no being alone anymore; it’s no longer in their vocabulary.

They think the word _love_ , project it, feel it with disturbing certainty, but never say it out loud.

There’s being honest and then there’s dispelling all doubt.

Neither wants to jinx this.

 

 

 

 **  
_~Fourth Interlude~_   
**

 

“That’s enough, Erik!”

Erik briefly acknowledges the interruption, more intent on whipping a steel cord around Russif’s chest and virtually melding him to the wall, feet a foot off the ground.  “I’m not even close to being done.”

“Don’t do this.” Charles tentatively steps towards him, a placating hand raised.

“You plan on stopping me?” Erik glances over his shoulder.

It’s a point of contention that’s come up a few times since they first met.  Both men are powerful, but unless Erik can find a way to keep Charles at bay Charles is ultimately more powerful if he so chooses to wield his telepathy to its full extent.  Erik’s seen Charles use it on others.

“I don’t want to force you—”

“But you will?”  It’s not a question so much as a challenge, a need to assert lines of distinction between them, connecting them in their separation.

Identity can get lost in the _we_.  ‘Who am I?’ becomes an ugly refrain when there’s only ever been one answer.

“If you refuse to listen to reason, blinded instead by a thirst for vengeance no matter the cost or consequences then, yes, I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Save the morality tale, Charles,” Erik snaps and diverts his attention back to Russif.  “Following orders is not an excuse for what he’s done.”

“You follow orders,” Charles points out, not to be a jerk but to draw a qualified comparison. Concern bubbles beneath the surface.  “You live by orders, but I know you can also think beyond that.  I know you’re the better man even if you don’t think so.  This man is not the one you want to punish.  Not like this.”

Erik tightens the steel coil around the man’s chest, listening to his choked groans almost drowning out Charles’ plea.

“Are you willing to put money on that kind of faith?” Erik asks after a moment.

Charles comes to a stop beside him and reverently replies, “I’m willing to bet my life.”

 

 

 

 **IX**

 

It shouldn’t be this hard.  They knew it wouldn’t be easy.

They’re becoming liabilities.  Missed cues, nearly forgotten cover stories, distracting daydreams, hypothesizing what it all means—what it means to them and some naive notion of a future together, what it means to nearly botched jobs, only to be saved by quick thinking on their feet.  Being apart is as consuming as their being together.  A one off night for them together surrounded by weeks (or worse, months) of little to no contact no longer cuts it.  Eyebrows are being raised while leading questions come up in debriefings and are left unanswered.  It’s only a matter of time before shit goes down.

“You’re on friendly terms with Charles Xavier?”

“We’re acquaintances.  I’m familiar with his work.”

“Yes, well, he’s become a...problem.”

“...meaning?”

“Nothing...just yet.”

If only.

If it was just about sex, Erik wouldn’t be running through New York like he’s being hunted by the hounds of hell.  He wouldn’t be racing himself to escape professional expectations that have manifested as solemn disappointment and he wouldn’t be trying to outrace self-doubt over every decision he’s ever made.  He definitely wouldn’t be out on the street staring at his reflection unable to recognize the man looking back because that man has something to lose and Erik has worked way too hard to rid himself of ties that bind.

What Charles has done to him, uncovered, paid homage to, caressed and whispered endearments upon, opened his heart to; has left Erik spinning out of time.  He has shown Erik parts of his life he’s kept even from his sister, including the awe and fright of an invention that expands his telepathic reach to incredible lengths.  She’s aware of it, understands it on a basic level, but Erik is the only one he’s gone into details with, even sharing his concerns. 

Erik knows he shouldn’t be bound to his man. 

He should be cool and detached, unleashing metallic vengeance upon the cruel and wretched without remorse.  He’s the one who walks in alone and takes out six soldiers with a gesture of his hands, undeterred from the goal just beyond the finish line.  _That’s_ who he’s meant to be.  Fuck the consequences.  At least that’s what he used to think back when it was much more straightforward.  But he’s so far in and Charles is this inescapable presence whispering in his ear and he’s not thinking clearly, not the way he used to.

So the question is can he outrun Charles?  Should he try?  Does he want to?

 

 *********

 

If it was just about fucking they could have had it over and done with years earlier.  Charles would not be sitting on the edge of the bed like a wounded puppy, struggling to keep his emotions under control, all the while watching Erik dress, watching Erik deliberately not look his way, all the while uttering bullshit like, “It’s for the best,” and, “You know I care deeply for you,” and the frustratingly vile, “We both knew this couldn’t really go anywhere, not with our jobs,” like their jobs trumped what they’ve come to mean to each other.

All Charles can do is nod blankly in pretend agreement and be pathetically thankful when Erik looks his way hesitantly before walking over and stroking the side of Charles’ face  before turning around and walking out on him.  Them.  Walking out on _them_.

It tears a gaping hole through Charles’ chest.  Raw and wounded once upon a time, Charles had thought it healed and tended to.  Now it’s ripped anew.  Erik made him see beauty in imperfection and strength in the wake of disaster.  He made Charles’ heart soar, his mind fire on all cylinders and his soul sing for something he thought since childhood would never be part of his life.

And what had it got him?

“If you cross paths again with Erik Lehnsherr contact us immediately.”

“...why?”

“That’s not a request. Call us.”

If Charles wants to get caustic (overcompensating for what’s fallen apart) he thinks he should be mindbending asshole parasites who prey on those who are weaker.  He should be knocking them to their knees and putting the shoe on the other foot.  He should be turning their minds with every fear and regret, every boogieman monster that’s ever rendered them ineffectual.  He should be showing them how easily they can be destroyed and taken apart piece-by-piece.  At the very least (or most, when he’s prone to being rational) he should be putting his exemplary telepathic ability to greater use instead of lamenting the emptiness at his side, the void that still carries a name, a scent, a touch.  He’s tempted to try and mind-wipe it away but can’t bring himself to take a blowtorch to those memories.  He needs to compartmentalize, hide them away behind lock and key.

The fact is they knew what they were getting into and still flew too close to the sun.  At the time it seemed well worth it to leap, for the chance, the _taste_ of something true and sweet, untouched by all the other bullshit.  Who were they kidding?

“You have no heart,” Charles whispers brokenly under his breath to a long gone Erik.  “Take mine, for the good it will do.”

There’s enough blame to go around.  Ultimately it falls on them.

 

 

 

 **X**

 

In the end (or the beginning depending on if you’re looking at a glass that’s half full or half empty) it’s a deflected bullet that turns everything on its head.

The surprise of seeing each other again while going after an arms dealer after months of almost no contact (besides gossip and rumoured innuendo, as well as a very tumultuous, very much mutually destructive downward spiral of behaviour exceptionally risky even by their morally lax standards) is shoved aside somewhat abruptly, though only after Charles flinches at Erik’s helmet keeping the telepath out, used not so much because Erik doesn’t trust Charles but for his own peace of mind against other potentially invasive mutants with an axe to grind.

Their staggering shock is magnified at the realization that _they’re_ _both_ under fire.

As it is, there’s no time to ruminate on how things were left all those months earlier, choking down white lies as they tried to convince themselves they were the same men as before they met.  It’s a ruse with no discernable end.  There’s no point in pretending they don’t care what the other has been up to or if he’s suffering while going through the motions.  Time isn’t on their side, if it ever really was, yet each lets a tiny slip of a smile cross their lips (because no matter what, the heart _doesn’t_ forget) before it’s all crashing down spectacularly.  What else is new?

It’s every paranoid conspiracy theory they dreaded come to fruition.

Furious and singularly intent on striking back by any means necessary, Erik deflects bullets meant for him left and right.  It’s only Charles’ anguished cry that breaks his soldiering reverie and he turns, watching in horror as Charles falls to the ground, one of the redirected bullets having struck his bulletproof suit in the back with enough force to still take him out of commission, albeit for how long is anyone’s guess.

Immediately Erik runs to the fallen man, not noticing Charles (despite overwhelming pain) has stopped everyone hell-bent on attacking them while Erik has taken control of all their weapons.  Dropping to his knees, Erik cradles Charles in his arms and stares into resigned and sad eyes.  It’s blatantly unfair that this is what counts as a reprieve and if Erik wasn’t so overwhelmed by Charles (once again) pressed to him, he’d hurl vitriol at the poisonous circumstances constantly threatening to mar their every turn.  That Charles is alive is enough for Erik to desperately grasp hold of.  Every hurt and scraps of hope collide together. 

For all his bravado, Erik couldn’t walk away.  He never fully exorcised Charles from his soul. 

Truth be told he hadn’t wanted to because Charles unleashed and embraced the man he had been, revealed what he had it in him to become and loved him through it all.  In his eyes, Erik felt whole.  And in Charles he had seen an undoubted equal, fierce and passionate.  If Erik was the cool intellect, Charles was the pulsing heart.  One didn’t work without the other.

“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean for this to happen.  I promise you they won’t get away with what they’ve done,” is Erik’s broken declaration.

Charles grips Erik’s hand.  “It’s as much our doing,” he spits out with a furrowed brow relaying his pain.

Erik shakes his head.  “Not to _this_ end.”

Charles grimaces as he sucks in a deep breath and Erik tries not to flinch sympathetically.  “Was there another future you foresaw?  We both knew this was the only way it would play out.”

“You don’t believe that.  Ever the optimist, Charles; seeing possibilities at every turn.  I _know_ you.”

Charles muffles an aborted laugh and muted hiss.  His eyes pierce Erik’s.  “And you, my cynical friend; seeing only locked doors that need to be blown off their hinges; was it that steadfast belief in us that stopped you from walking away?  No, because you knew as much as I did this was where we were heading...”

Charles trails off dejectedly, thoughtfully taking in the frozen battlefield aimed at wiping them out of existence; the perfectly tragic ending they’d joked about when it seemed farfetched enough to not be true.  But now mortality sings a bitter tune and maybe that’s what makes what they have—had— _still have_ so potent---that it can be taken from them at any time.

“So what?  We let them do this as some prophetic fulfillment?” Erik admonishes, tugging Charles closer.  “No.  I won’t let them get away with this.  I never really let you go.  I couldn’t and I won’t start now.  I...we’re meant to be...”  He refuses to fall apart.  He won’t give in to the whims of other’s anymore.  He won’t let it end here because someone somewhere has decided they are nobody, that they’re expendable losses that can be cut without consequence.  There’s nothing worthless about the two of them.  If he has to walk to the ends of the earth to punish those who gave the orders—

“Then we’ll do it together,” Charles says as if finishing Erik’s thought.

Surprise must show on Erik’s face because Charles’ expression softens as if he’s been waiting for the right words to break open the right moment, the turning point.  “Pessimism aside,” Charles states, “I never said this is where it would end.  You’re not the only who has something to fight for.”  They always could read each other quite well.  Perspective is the great equalizer between reality and intentions.  Their ordered deaths have breathed new life into that which they thought lost, swept away and buried deep.

A burst of heat races though Erik’s body at the familiarity that’s been missing like a dull, ever growing void. There’s no denying the relief in his voice when he says, “So there’s still a we.”

“I would venture to say there always has been.” Charles smiles, a slight twitch reminding them both he’s still injured.  “Even with the way we left things—I couldn’t convince myself to believe a lie either, though I did try.  These circumstances leave something to be desired but the outcome has been just as much a certainty, don’t you think?”

“Side-by-side.  The two of us.” Erik smiles back as that sinks in with newly appreciated profound poeticism.  “You’re aware we could take out the bulk of whatever this operation is right now.” He nods at the violent factions frozen around them.

Charles gives him a closed mouth smile.  “Although I appreciate your desire for instant gratification, in this particular case I think a more drawn out approach works best.”

“You want to make them suffer?” Erik asks with a murderous glint in his eyes.

“I think we should make them rue the day they tried to stop us.” Charles raises Erik’s hand to his lips and kisses the curl of his fingers.

Erik’s chest tightens and he leans down, lightly brushing his lips against Charles’ mouth.  He can’t believe what he nearly gave up completely, what personal sacrifice he almost irrevocably made.  Together in each other’s arms he sees it all clear as day.  The brightness in Charles’ welcoming blue eyes says he doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know Charles feels the same.

“Sounds like a plan,” Erik says and Charles struggles to sit up, leaning against him.

It would be an easy mistake to brush off the familiarity with which their bodies fit against one another as nothing more than the equivalent of muscle memory. It would mean ignoring some plain truths concrete-booted in fact, something they’ve played at before and lost.  They’ve run as far away from the other as they can and ended up right back where they started only with more wounds and more scars that won’t go away.  But these ones tell a different story—one of gain not loss, a shared life versus a lonely existence.

In their separateness there is but one.  It is the differences that make any attempt at breaking them impossible and foolish.  They are inevitability.Their minds knew it when they were still brushing off rudimentary conversations over drinks as nothing more than happy hour breaks from otherwise all consuming jobs.

Their hearts knew it back when running into each other was still coincidental enough that they rolled their eyes in irritation while flashing surprised grins.

Their bodies knew it, already, in an underwater embrace, when Charles wouldn’t let go and Erik couldn’t wrench loose.

Weakness is not in their willingness to put their lives on the line for the other but in the misguided denial of it.  After all, when there’s something to die for there’s something to live for. 

In the line of fire of those thoughtless and reckless enough to test that theory, to disregard them as rogues, writing them off as renegade lost causes needing to be put down, their resolve is only affirmed, reignited and reborn.

This time around there’s going to be hell to pay.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I read or see something that instantly roots itself in my brain, sending my mind spinning with ideas. Initially I hoped someone else would see this fanvid and write something based on it (and I'd still love for that to happen) but at some point putting my own pen to paper became an undeniable urge I had to follow through on.s
> 
> By no stretch of the imagination is my fic the only way to interpret the fanvid, but I do hope it works as a companion piece of sorts.
> 
> If you're not interested in the story please still watch the video. I promise you won't regret it.


End file.
